by C. B. Hanley
It was Humphrey. ‘Martin? Can you hear me?’
Martin licked his lips. ‘Drink?’
An arm slipped under his neck and raised his head; a goblet was put to his lips. Watered wine. He slurped some and lay back. ‘My lord?’
‘He lives, thanks be to God. He’s in his bed and Brother William is watching over him.’
Martin stared at what he could see of the pavilion roof. When he had mustered the energy to speak again, he managed, ‘Adam?’
He’s here next to you, but he hasn’t woken yet. He was in a very bad way – I think he must have eaten more than you.’
Martin managed to turn his head and saw a recumbent form a few yards away. Little Hugh, his own face tear-streaked, was wiping Adam’s face with a cloth. Martin made an indeterminate questioning noise, which Humphrey fortunately seemed to understand. ‘He’s fine. He says he didn’t eat anything.’
The food. Yes, thought the part of Martin that could still think through the wool in his head. But there was something else. Someone else … ‘Sir Hugh?’
‘He is also ill.’ It was a different voice this time, and Martin felt Edwin kneeling next to him.
That wasn’t right, was it? Something – there was something … ‘You shouldn’t be here. My lord … angry.’
He felt Edwin pressing him back down. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll go again before he knows I’ve been. I was with Sir Hugh when he fell ill, so I came to see if you were all right.’
Martin made a vague gesture with his hand but couldn’t get any more words out. He lay still and listened to Edwin and Humphrey continuing the conversation.
‘Sir Hugh said it must have been something he ate, and I knew he’d taken his meal with the lord earl.’
‘It must have been something in the food, God forgive me. My lord, Martin, Adam and … Sir Hugh all had the same meal and are sick. Hugh here and Brother William did not and they’re both fine.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Three of my men are also ill.’ Even in his stupor Martin caught the grim tone of Humphrey’s voice. ‘So at least I know who’s been sampling dishes when they shouldn’t.’
‘Just the three?’
‘Yes. The rest of the men had pottage and bread. It must have been something specifically in the dishes for my lord. But I’m sure only fresh meat was used …’
Edwin’s voice was also serious. ‘I don’t think you need to worry about the quality of the food. But I would like to know exactly who prepared it, and who might have gone near it while it was cooking.’
Humphrey’s voice was incredulous. ‘Surely you don’t think –’
‘I do. And I’m going to find out who did it. In the meantime, I’ll pray for them all to recover swiftly.’ Edwin leaned over Martin and touched his shoulder. ‘Try not to fret. Just take care of yourself.’
Martin mumbled something, but he wasn’t sure he made sense even to himself. Another wave of pain …
Edwin made as if to rise, but Humphrey stopped him. ‘And … how is Sir Hugh?’
Martin was concentrating on his belly and heard only murmuring as the conversation went on, except for a sharp ‘How did you know?’ from Humphrey and a low chuckle from Edwin. Then a few more words and Martin heard him going out of the tent.
Humphrey sighed and then turned back to Martin. ‘Could you manage another drink?’
Martin nodded as the wave receded, and felt himself being lifted once more. He sipped.
‘Good. How do you feel?’
Martin thought about that for a few moments. ‘Pain – I have pain in my guts. On fire. And weak – don’t think I could stand if I tried. But I don’t think I’m going to be sick again.’
‘Good. Sleep now, and I’ll see if I can do anything for my lord and Adam.’
Martin let the darkness engulf him.
There was little time the next morning for recriminations. They had to keep moving, lest they arrive at the coast too late. From the position he had taken up at a discreet distance from the earl’s pavilion, Edwin had seen the earls of Salisbury and Arundel make separate visits and emerge looking sombre.
The earl, Sir Hugh and both squires had survived the night. None of them was well enough to ride, and Edwin watched as a litter was fashioned and slung between two horses to carry the earl. The others were loaded into the back of carts, swathed in blankets; Martin had managed a half-sitting position but Sir Hugh was still flat and poor Adam had barely stirred. Edwin muttered a prayer under his breath. Two of Humphrey’s three men had looked a little better when he’d slipped round there first thing, but the third was groaning and thrashing in pain.
He had tried to speak with the earl’s cook as dawn broke; the man seemed genuinely horrified at the thought he might be suspected of wrongdoing, and Edwin believed his earnest protestations of innocence. What could he possibly hope to gain from poisoning his own lord in such an obvious way? He was no murderer, although he might be justly accused of laxity in his duties. From what Edwin could gather, he’d cooked the meal, keeping it separate from the common fare as usual, but had left it unattended several times: once to visit the latrine and twice to get some more supplies out of a baggage cart, where he’d stayed chatting for some moments. In the meantime, the food had been left cooking and many men were passing by. Edwin could picture the scene and, with a sinking heart, he realised that it would have been relatively easy for someone to drop something noxious into the earl’s meal and walk off. He wouldn’t need to hang around to see the results of his deed: it was quite clear from the fine ingredients which meal was for the earl and which was for the common men.
Edwin sighed as the remains of the camp were packed up around him. Time to go. He should find his horse and … oh. Still, he’d always hated them, hadn’t he? And he was used to walking. He’d manage.
He’d already retrieved his scrip from the tent that Brother William would have to himself for the foreseeable future, so he slung it over one shoulder and made his way back to Sir Hugh’s men.
To start with, the walking was fine. But he’d got unused to it in the months since he’d been in the earl’s service, and by noon he was beginning to forgive all the horses he’d ever ridden. Plus, the clouds of dust being kicked up by the feet of hundreds of men were choking; he hadn’t realised how far above it all he’d been on horseback. He coughed and tried to wave some of it away from his face. But he had to keep on, and besides, Peter was in the group just ahead of him, trudging along with Sir Roger’s archers, and Edwin certainly wasn’t going to admit to being footsore ahead of a boy of nine.
To take his mind off his feet, he turned to John, who was whistling as he strode. ‘Have you been in Sir Hugh’s service long?’
‘Oh, yes, more years now than I care to remember. Up and down the land, and even over in France two or three years ago.’
‘France?’
John gave him a quizzical look. ‘Aye, France. Big place, over the sea. Led by that whoreson Louis and his father. Old King John invaded, trying to get back the lands he’d lost, but he was useless and it was a disaster. We got beaten at a place called Bouvines and we didn’t all come back. The nobles did, of course – Salisbury up there was captured and ransomed, which didn’t happen to many of us poor so-and-sos, I can tell you.’
His expression was sombre. Edwin thought that he’d perhaps not chosen the best topic of conversation. How to bring it round? ‘So, you’re away from home and family? Do you have a wife and children?’
This time John gave a mocking laugh. ‘Me? Oh yes. Big family man. Three daughters, all trouble, all grown, wed and out of my sight. Three wives, all dead in childbed, and three sons all dead likewise.’
Edwin was sincerely wishing he’d never opened his mouth.
‘Not to worry, lad. You weren’t to know. Anyway, now I’m free as a bird, so I just find me a woman whenever I want, and no worries or troubles about keeping a house over her head.’
Edwin looked around at the mass of men. ‘Not many women ro
und here.’
He got a disbelieving snort this time. ‘You’re not looking in the right place. Find me tonight and I’ll show you.’
Edwin made no reply.
John continued, waving dust and flies away from his face. ‘Anyway, now you know me, some questions for you. How did you learn to read? I saw you last night with letters. You’re a clerk?’
‘Oh, no – but my father was the bailiff on my lord earl’s estate at Conisbrough so he had our priest teach me to read. You need to, if you’re going to be a bailiff. Manor courts and records, that sort of thing.’
‘Oh, a bailiff, are we? Well, I should be glad you’re even talking to me.’ He touched his hat in mock salute. Edwin couldn’t help noticing that it was filthy and didn’t look like it had been taken off his head in several years.
‘I’m not the bailiff. After Father died I was – well, it’s complicated – the earl wanted me to …’ he tailed off. ‘I don’t know who I am now.’
John gave him a friendly clout on the shoulder that sent him staggering and reminded him of how sore his feet were. Damn.
‘Never mind that, then. Here’s a more important question: can you shoot?’
‘Not very well, I’m afraid. I practised a bit when I was younger but there were plenty in our village who were better than me. But if I’m going to be one of Sir Hugh’s men, I’d better learn, hadn’t I? I think I’d rather be an archer than a foot soldier with a spear.’
‘Oh, aye, archers have a better time of it. More skill, you see.’ John tapped the strap across his chest which held the long bag in place on his back. Most of the others had stowed their bows in the carts when they set off that morning, but John evidently preferred to keep his close at hand. ‘And you’ve no armour, so you don’t want to go wading in hand-to-hand if you can help it. If there’s light tonight when we camp, I’ll set up and we’ll see what you can do. The lads haven’t practised for a day or two, so they’ll need to loosen up themselves.’
‘Thank you. I’d like that.’ Edwin sighed. ‘Sir Hugh has been kind, so I don’t want to let him down.’
‘Good. It’s settled, then.’
They marched on, the dust getting into their throats and the heat reflecting back off the road like a shimmering furnace.
It was the middle of the afternoon when the column gradually ground to a halt. Edwin couldn’t see what was going on, but eventually the order reached them that all men were to prepare themselves for entering hostile territory. Thankfully someone passed an aleskin up the line at the same time, and Edwin took a grateful swig, wiping the liquid away as it dripped down his chin. He could feel a headache developing and he hoped he could stave it off for a while longer.
John began to bark orders at his archers and soon they were all collecting and stringing their bows, and hanging quivers of arrows from their belts. Sir Hugh’s foot soldiers donned such helmets as they had and held an assortment of weapons at the ready. Edwin loosened his dagger in its scabbard but didn’t know what else to do. John spotted him and pushed a bow into his arms. ‘Here. We have some spares. Take this for now – we’ll see about finding one that best suits you later on.’ He grinned, wolfishly. ‘If we’re all still here.’
Edwin gulped, but there was nothing for it. He tied the quiver to his belt with care and hefted the bow. Dear Lord, whose was this? He could barely pull the string back halfway. If it came to combat he’d just have to hope that nobody noticed his arrows weren’t going as far as anyone else’s. Please God let nobody else’s life depend on me this day.
Sir Roger pushed his horse through the throng, there to see that his archers were also at the ready. He was pleased to see that they had already organised themselves and formed up with Sir Hugh’s retinue, but when he saw Peter scampering about with his eating knife in his hand, he was firm. ‘Not you.’
Peter’s face fell and for one moment Edwin thought he was going to answer back or disobey, despite the lesson he’d learned the other day. But he had no opportunity to do so: John scooped him up and carried him back to another cart that had caught them up. Alf and Dickon were there, having woken from their morning rest, and John deposited the squirming boy next to them. ‘We all admire your bravery, lad. But let us have a go at the Frenchies first, eh? You can give Alf and Dickon your protection if we let any get through.’
Peter brightened and held the knife out in a rough approximation of a swordsman’s grip. John turned away and caught Edwin’s eye. He cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’ve already started on another knight, haven’t I? Be a shame to waste it.’
Sir Roger nodded at the cook, who now had a vicious-looking meat cleaver in his hand. The knight had been wearing his mail and surcoat since the morning, but he now laced on his helm and accepted the shield that one of his men produced for him, and a lance. He made as if to head back up the column but Edwin grabbed at his stirrup as he went past. ‘Sir Roger … the lord earl.’
The knight was faceless under the helm, but he’d heard. ‘I understand. I’ll stay close to him. Brother William is there too.’ He hesitated, probably looking at Edwin’s awkward handling of the bow, and the muffled voice came again. ‘Good luck.’
Edwin took a deep breath. ‘And you.’
John’s men were still forming up, so Edwin took the opportunity to slip forward to see what was going on. Sir Roger had reached the earl and was now riding on one side of his litter; Brother William had dismounted and was walking on the other side, hefting the earl’s shield. Sir Hugh was still semi-prone in one cart, his squire Alan riding next to it; Martin was now sitting more or less upright in the other, also with a shield, and manoeuvring himself so he could hold it over Adam, who was now stirring, thank the Lord. As Edwin watched, Martin ordered little Hugh off his pony and into the cart as well, tying the reins to the rail. Then he picked up something that lay beside him – his new great helm.
Edwin thought he would put it on his head, but instead Martin held it out to Alan. ‘Here. Better protection for you. As you’re riding rather than sitting in a cart like a woman.’ He sounded disgusted with himself, and Edwin knew how disappointed he would be to miss his first real chance at combat.
Alan nodded his appreciation. ‘My thanks. But this old thing has done me for years and will serve still, and besides, I like to see what’s coming at me.’ He rapped his knuckles on his own helmet, an older pot-shaped one that only covered the top of his head and his nose, not the rest of his face. ‘And there’s no shame in being ill, unless you’re saying my lord’s acting like a woman?’ He gestured at the prone Sir Hugh.
‘No, sorry, I didn’t mean —’
Alan waved him away. ‘Say no more. Look. I’ll guard them all from this side; you stay ready in case there’s a sudden attack and anyone gets past. You’re sick, but you’re in a better state than the others.’
Martin nodded and raised the shield again. There was nothing more Edwin could do for them, so he made his way back down the column. He joined the end of the line of Sir Hugh’s and Sir Roger’s archers and tentatively pulled at the bowstring again. It barely moved.
John was making his way round the group, and he stopped by Edwin. ‘Been in combat before?’
‘Yes. But I didn’t enjoy it much.’
‘You’ll be fine. We don’t know if there’s anyone out there, anyway, but Louis’s men hold all this land so there might be. Me, I’d wager on a party hiding out in those woods about half a mile ahead.’
Edwin followed his pointing arm and saw that although the road was on open ground as it ran between two fields, behind the one to his right was an area thick with trees. Any number of enemies might be hidden in there, unseen. Those in charge seemed to have reached the same conclusion, as some men, individually or in small groups, split off from the host and began to fan out across the field.
They were moving again, everyone on the alert. Edwin’s heart was in his mouth. His knees felt shaky, but that was just starting to walk again after stopping, surely. John, on the other hand,
looked more carefree than Edwin had yet seen him; he smiled as he nocked an arrow. ‘Cheer up. We all have enemies.’
Yes, thought Edwin, we have enemies. But were they all out at sea and in the forest? Or were some of them much closer than that?
The first thing Edwin heard was a kind of whining, buzzing noise. The second was the shouts of alarm of the men all around him as they threw themselves to the floor just as the arrows fell.
Edwin slammed to the ground along with them – not because he had recognised the danger, but because John had pulled him. He closed his eyes in terror, breathed in the dirt and prayed as arrows slapped down around him, piercing both earth and flesh. He heard the first screams. He risked opening his eyes and then gave an almighty start as a last arrow with a vicious-looking point smacked into the road not three feet from him.
John, inexplicably, was grinning at him. ‘No shields for us – just have to hope for the best.’
And then the hail was over and men were springing up and shouting. John was one of them. ‘Who marked where they came from? Those trees there? Right, form up, damn you! Ready? Nock. Draw. Loose!’
Sir Hugh’s well-trained archers had got off their first volley before Edwin had even picked himself up, and belatedly he realised he was supposed to be one of them. Hands trembling, he joined the end of the line and picked an arrow out of his quiver. He nocked it. No, that was the wrong way round – the marked cock feather needed to face outwards. Concentrate. He just about managed to get it in the right place before ‘draw’ sounded again and he hauled the string back as far as he could, muscles screaming.
He didn’t quite get as far as ‘loose’ before he couldn’t stand the strain any longer and had to let go, but his arrow only shot off a fraction before everyone else’s, so in the heat of the moment he hoped nobody would notice.
Another return flight was heading their way so they all ducked and crouched again. But only one or two stray arrows reached their group – the rest were aimed further up the column. At the easily recognisable and brightly coloured nobles and their horses, God help them. More cries sounded.
